Robert Swindells - Daz 4 Zoe

Like that same Saturday. That day, while I was visiting with Grandma there’d been some sort of disturbance in the city. A riot. It happens a lot, and there’s usually a bit on the news about it, and then Dad will have something to say about Chippies and what he’d do to them if he were the government. He always says the same things, and I don’t pay it any heed because it’s just an automatic response with him and it’s not important, anyway – he’s never going to be the government. Mum doesn’t pay it any heed either – maybe she doesn’t even hear it anymore. Anyway, this item comes on screen and Dad says ‘Riot? I’d give ’ em riot. I ’d have a door-gunner in every ‘copter and cream ’em.’ He snorts. ‘They’d think twice before they’d riot again, I can tell you.’

As I say, he’d said it all before, only this time I got a picture of Chippies crumpling under a hail of lead, and one of them was you know who. I said, ‘They’re people, Dad. Some of them’re probably nice if you know them.’

He looked at me sharply, then his startled expression softened into a sneer. ‘Nice? I’ll tell you how nice they are, Zoe. One night a couple of months ago a bunch of Fairlawn kids drove into the city. Their folks thought they were visiting Goldengrove, and when they hadn’t returned at midnight a parent raised the alarm.’ He paused to create some suspense. ‘They found them next day, four of ’em, hanging by their feet on the forecourt of a derelict gas station, shot through the back of the neck.’

Mum said ‘Gerald!’ – like that. I guess she thought Dad ought not to have told me this horrible story but it was all right. I’d heard it ages ago from Tabby, who likes such things. I said ‘That was Dred, Dad. They’re not all in Dred. Most of them’re just poor folks getting along the best way they can.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I could see he was getting mad but I was mad too. ‘And just what in the bright blue blazes d’you think you know about it, Zoe? You, who’ve never so much as set foot outside of Silverdale in the whole of your spoiled little life?’

I wanted to tell him then. Oh, I did. About the trash and the dogs and the Blue Moon and Chippy eyes up close. The crowd closing in and the way we were saved. I wanted to see the look on his face but of course I couldn’t so I said, ‘Grandma says they’re people like you and me.’

‘Grandma’s an old lady,’ he said. ‘Her savvy’s out to lunch.’

Mum shot him a look because this was vulgar and also untrue. I didn’t say anything. I got up and walked out and went to my room and drew a helicopter and wrote ‘FAN’ underneath in big letters and left it around for him to find. Fan’s a Chippy word and he hates me using Chippy words.

So I was in trouble at home. This was on top of my original problem, plus the fact that my few friends were cooling off from neglect and I couldn’t get interested in anything.

Then, just as it began to seem that nothing would ever be right again, something else went wrong.

I got in trouble at school, and this was something new for me. I believe in keeping my head down so I don’t get noticed, and this has usually worked. I never got detentions or counselling or any of that stuff. Not until this day I’m going to tell about.

It was a Monday – the Monday after my Saturday clash with Dad. Modern History with Miss Moncrieff. I’ve never liked old Moncrieff and I usually switch off in her class because history’s so boring. Dates, dust and deadmen, right?

Anyway, it was Modern History and I was looking out of the window. It was one of those gorgeous mornings you sometimes get in October when the sun shines through mist and makes it look like gold, and the dew’s still on the grass and that’s gold too, and all the trees are red and gold and there are spider webs made of crystal lace. I was looking out the window, wishing I was out there walking hand in hand with you know who, and Moncrieff’s voice was droning on in the background. She was talking about something called the Franchise (Income Qualification) Bill of 2004. (Yawn, yawn.) Not the most riveting stuff, even the first time around, and this was the second time around because we were revising for the November exams. Well – the others were. I was rehearsing something else entirely.

Anyway she’s on about this bill and she must’ve spotted that I wasn’t paying attention and she stops droning and goes, ‘Why did the Dennison government introduce this bill, Zoe Askew?’

‘What bill, Miss?’ I asked. Well, she took me by surprise.

‘The bill I’ve been talking about for the last half hour while you’ve been gazing out the window.’

‘I don’t know, Miss.’

You could tell she didn’t like it. She grew very still. Her cheeks went white and twitched a couple of times as she looked at me. I felt quite nervous. I thought she might flip and fling herself at me, screaming.

She didn’t. Instead she started speaking, softly and very distinctly, moving her mouth in an exaggerated way like I was just learning to lip-read or something. ‘The Franchise (Income Qualification) Bill was introduced to correct an anomaly whereby those sections of the population which contributed least to society were able to exercise undue influence upon it through misuse of the vote.’ She looked at me. ‘Do you think you can remember that?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘Good.’ She smiled like a shark. ‘Because when you go home this afternoon you will write it out forty-five times, word for word in your neatest hand – that’s one time for each minute you’ve wasted in my class today.’

Some of the kids tittered and she froze them with her gorgon special. That’s a look she gives which damn near turns you to stone. She thought they were laughing at me but they weren’t. I knew why they were laughing. They were thinking, we’ve all wasted the forty-five minutes, Miss – that’s what your classes are – a waste of time, but of course nobody would say it. I was the only one dumb enough to talk back to old Moncrieff.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, is that it? Is that what you call trouble – a few stupid lines to write out?

Well, no it isn’t. We haven’t got to the trouble yet. That’s coming up next, as they say on telly.

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

Dred gud, Subbys bad

i rite this all down my maffs book.

Mister James sez, you spose to be doing maffs.

Wot’s a maff, i sez, so he frow me owt, nor I can’t go back no more.

Subbys call it Chippy grad you ayshon.

I did it. I wrote it out forty-five times in my neatest hand and it took all evening. It was a drag all right, but when Moncrieff tells you to do something it’s best to do it.

I did it, and then I sat looking at it for a long time in the light from my desktop lamp. I’d filled thirteen sheets of paper. Thirteen, and I knew exactly what she’d do when I handed them to her because I’d seen her do it to other kids. She wouldn’t read them. She’d riffle through to make sure I hadn’t slipped in any blanks. If all the sheets were filled and the whole thing looked neat she’d tear it in half and dump it in her wastepaper basket. Three hours to produce, three seconds to dispose of. Part of the punishment, right? If she found sloppy work or blanks she’d have me do the whole thing again.

Anyway, I sat looking at it, and then I pulled the last sheet towards me and scrawled ‘Brainwashing’ across the bottom. I don’t know if you’re familiar with that term. Brainwashing. I am, because Grandma uses it all the time. She says half of what’s on TV and in the papers is brainwashing, and she reckons a lot of what they teach us in school is brainwashing too. When I asked her what brainwashing is, she told me it’s repeating lies over and over till people come to believe them. She says Dad’s the most brainwashed person she ever met. I looked at what Moncrieff had made me write and I thought, this is brainwashing. What the Dennison government did was take the vote away from the Chippies, and what I’ve just written out forty-five times is the excuse they gave for doing it. Repeating lies over and over till -.